


It's not the End of the Chapter

by imissedyourskin



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 9/11, Character Death, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imissedyourskin/pseuds/imissedyourskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete meets Patrick one dark autumn afternoon in October 1999 and it's love at first sight. But then one dark morning in September 2001, his life changes completely. This is a story about meeting a lover. This is a story about a meeting with death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not the End of the Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH!!!!
> 
> This is a short 9/11 Peterick fic I wrote. If you either have bad memories when it comes to 9/11 or don't want to read about the events of that day, then I advice you not to read this -I guess-.
> 
> Note: English isn't my mother tongue so have mercy grammar police.

**10/29/99**

Pete met Patrick one dark autumn afternoon in Central Park. It was cold and Pete had his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, nose buried in his scarf while a large knitted beanie kept his forehead warm. It was because he was trying to hide his face that he didn't see the short overdressed guy until he ran into him. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't- I wasn't paying attention" He said, getting his hands out of his pockets. He awkwardly dusted of the guy's coat, as if he had messed it up. The boy looked up then, eyes meeting and Pete's hand stayed where it was, floating in the air as he stared.

"Hi," The stranger said eventually, a small (adorable) smile appearing on his face, and Pete sucked his lip between his teeth, biting it softly before releasing it again, "hi," he replied. The stranger blinked, bringing up a hand to fix the fedora that rested on his head. "I'm Pete," Pete said, still staring, and the guy smiled crookedly but didn't offer his name. "Hello Pete." He said, offering his hand instead. Pete shook it, feeling the guy's cold fingers against his palm.

"What are you doing here?" Pete asked then, wishing the guy had told him his name. "I was working on a song.. in my head," The guy said and Pete wondered if maybe he was crazy. "Writing a song..in your head?" He asked and the stranger nodded, "yeah, I'm an artist, sort of. I guess it's kind of my own fault you walked into me because I stopped walking," he apologised, fixing his glasses which were just slightly askew.

Pete hummed, noticed this boy wasn't wearing a scarf or gloves and said, "Hey, can I buy you like, a hot chocolate or something?" The guy looked at Pete as if he had asked him to go rob a bank with him. "I just- your hand was cold," Pete offered as an explanation. The guy blinked, "wait sorry, what did you say? I kind of lost you there, suddenly got an idea." Pete cleared his throat, "I uh- I asked you if I could buy you a drink?" "Ah, oh. Well, coffee sounds great," The guy smiled and Pete shook his head, took a step away, "alright."

They walked off together and Pete couldn't help but stare some more as dark brown and red leaves flew past them. "So, are you going to tell me your name?" Pete asked eventually, getting tired of the silence. The guy looked up again, eyes searching for Pete's as he smiled that same adorable smile, "it's Patrick. Patrick Stump." "Nice to meet you, Patrick," Pete said automatically, lost in Patrick's eyes. They were a weird colour, somewhere between green and blue with hints of brown. They were gorgeous, mesmerizing. Patrick laughed, a low sound in the back of his throat and Pete nearly tripped over his own feet.

There were countless little shops around so it didn't take them long to find a place. Pete bought himself hot chocolate to fit the weather while Patrick picked coffee. They sat at a table near the window and when he watched Patrick sit down and unbutton his coat he suddenly felt awkward. He cleared his throat and sat across from the boy, tapping his fingers against the table as soon as he sat down. It almost felt like an awkward first date, but Pete had to keep telling himself it wasn't a date. Still, buying coffee for what seemed to be his dream guy left Pete a nervous mess.

Patrick was looking outside, giving Pete the perfect opportunity to stare some more. Patrick had soft pink lips and the cutest haircut to match his overall look. Across his jaw was some stubble, a clear sign he hadn't shaved that day. Pete kind of loved it all. "I thought going out would mean getting some inspiration, instead you managed to make my head one blank page," Patrick said, keeping his eyes on some spot outside the window. Pete didn't know what to say, "I- I'm sorry?" he eventually managed to get out and Patrick smiled, "don't be."

Pete sipped on his hot chocolate then, trying not to look at Patrick too much. "I'm looking for a new apartment," Patrick said suddenly, not caring to explain why he was saying this, but his eyes stopped fixating on something outside and averted his eyes to watch Pete. "Okay?" Pete asked and Patrick kept silent. "Do you- do you want me to help looking?" Pete asked, spotting a newspaper someone had left behind on the table next to theirs. "Only if you come live there too," Patrick replied and Pete wasn't sure if he was serious or not. "Patrick.. we've known each other for less than an hour and you're asking me to come live with you?" He asked, once again thinking maybe Patrick was insane, crazy, ready for a mental hospital.

The guy shrugged his shoulders and Pete shook his head but smiled, "you're a weird one, Patrick Stump." "If that means you'll give me your number and go house hunting with me then you get to call me weird as often as you want to," Patrick said, smiling at Pete over his cup of coffee. Pete's laugh died in his throat, seeing the sparkle in Patrick's eyes, and that's how it all started.

 

**11/4/99**

 

"No, Patrick it's too small. Where do I sleep when I come over for a sleepover huh?" Pete said, pointing at the too small space around the even smaller bed that stood in the tiny bedroom. "I don't know? You could sleep in the bed with me?" Patrick asked, sounding as if he took Pete's joke serious. Pete poked Patrick's arm, "I'm joking, but really don't you think you need a little more space?"

Patrick sighed, "well yeah, but look at all the advantages. It has a large living room, a built in kitchen and an office." Pete cocked an eyebrow, "alright, but you can find that in many apartments. What is it that you like so much about this particular one?" Patrick mumbled something incoherent, looking away from Pete's face and Pete huffed, "Do I really have to tell you that no one hears you when you speak like that?" Patrick shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat, "I said that- that this one's only five minutes from your place."

Pete stared at his friend, the one he met only a week ago. The guy he was already head over heels in love with even though they had only seen each other three times that week and spent the rest of their time texting each other.

When he moved closer and wrapped himself around Patrick, the boy tried to fight him off at first, too proud to give in to hugs. Pete had tried before, oh had he tried, but Patrick didn't seem to be used to hugs despite his otherwise comfortable personality. Eventually he went limp though, hugging Pete back like he always would. "Come on, let's look for something else," He said eventually, letting Patrick go again. Patrick fixed his shirt and nodded, which was a whole improvement, honestly. The first time Patrick had just screamed that it was his house, his choice and therefore Pete should shut up. Pete had yelled back that he had asked him for advice and, goddamnit, that meant he would give advice.

"So, we should look for something close to my place, right?" Pete asked, nudging Patrick's side. The boy glared at him, "it's not funny Pete. I know we have a weird friendship and you're probably freaking out, but I haven't had a friend in forever, which might explain my craziness a little. I'm not too good with people anyway." Pete smiled softly, "don't worry about it Patrick, I quite like your forwardness." "Good, because I'm pretty sure it won't just go away."

Pete clicked his tongue, "how about we stop the house hunting for today and you come with me. I have left over noodles?" He offered and Patrick thought for a moment before he nodded, "yeah, okay. Noodles and movies?" "Noodles and movies."

 

**11/25/99**

 

"Peeeeeeeete I'm never going to find an apartment, am I?" Patrick groaned as he dropped next to Pete on the bed. "Of course you will," Pete said, not looking up from his book as his free hand moved up, tangling in Patrick's messy hair. "No, not this close to you. All the apartments here are too big for myself. Can't we kill your neighbours so I can move in there?" Patrick whined more and Pete smiled, kept stroking Patrick's hair for a while. He usually didn't get the chance seen as Patrick always wore one of his Fedora's.

He closed his book, dropped it next to him and rolled over to look at his friend, "I'm going to say something very crazy, okay?" Patrick smiled at this, "I love crazy." "I know," Pete replied. "I hate this place, the ceiling in the bathroom is leaking, the carpet is dirty. I hate it." Patrick blinked, slowly catching on but not being sure if he completely understood what Pete was saying, Pete could see it in his eyes. "So?" He stretched the word, making it a clear question and Pete sighed, "So, what if I said that we should look for a new place together? Like you suggested day one."

"Are you serious? No really Pete don't joke okay, don't you dare say you're joking," Patrick said, eyes wide. "I'm not, I'm honestly not joking," Pete said, smiling as he shook his head and within seconds Patrick was up on his feet, jumping on his spot on the bed, "I'm getting a roommate, I'm getting a roommate!" Pete rolled his eyes and lay still so Patrick wouldn't jump on him, "yes you are getting a roommate, Patrick Stump."

Patrick dropped on his knees again, staring at Pete with a sparkle in his eyes that made him hold his breath. "You're the best Pete Wentz, you're the best," Patrick said, leaning over to press a kiss to Pete's head, leaving the boy's skin burning from the touch.

 

**12/9/99**

 

"I can't believe we're moving in together. It's like we're in a relationship," Patrick said the moment the first boxes were put down in the hallway of their new apartment. Pete was glad he had his back turned to Patrick, because his face flushed bright red the moment those words registered. "I-uh relationship?" He stuttered then and he turned around to face Patrick. His friend looked a little guilty and Pete's heart almost stopped. Patrick knew, didn't he? He knew about what Pete felt for him and now he was joking about it. That was mean, that was harsh and unlike the Patrick he knew.

"Pete, I have to tell you something, and I know I should have done this before we got a place together, but I feel like you won't judge me for it so it should be safe," Patrick explained, letting go of the boxes and Pete frowned, feeling the blood now drain from his face, "what?", Patrick sighed, took Pete's hand and dragged him to the living room. He sat Pete down on their couch and took the seat next to him, "I haven't been completely honest about one part of my life," he said and Pete felt more nervous with every word. "You..haven't?" Pete asked and Patrick shook his head, "no. I hope this won't change us, but I- alright let's get it over with- I'm sort of, I mean- I guess yeah, no really though I'm.. gay."

Pete blinked, letting the words sink in. A feeling of relief washed over him and he smiled, "that's it? I mean, wow, I thought you had something very horrible to tell me." Patrick looked a little taken back, "I thought it was a pretty big deal?" "It is, it is. I'm sorry it's just when you expect something very bad and then you hear this it's kind of a relief," Pete said and he took Patrick's hand, squeezed it tightly in his own. "It's okay Patrick, I never thought of it as a big thing that could cause trouble, because -now we're sharing anyway- I'm bi," Pete admitted.

Patrick was the one who laughed then, and he threw his arms around Pete's neck, hugging him closer. The sound of his laughter vibrated through Pete's chest and he hid his face against Patrick's shoulder. "Hey Patrick, can I ask an insane question? Like, you don't have to freak out, really, but would you like to go on a date with me? Just to see if we possibly have something more than friendship?" Pete had asked the question without thinking too much, knowing Patrick would probably laugh it off. He laughed himself, and only noticed Patrick wasn't laughing anymore when he calmed down himself.

"Patrick?" He asked, feeling a little nervous. His friend was staring at him, looking as if he was lost in the distance. "Patrick," He said again and the boy jerked his head, eyes locking with Pete's, "sorry, I was thinking." Pete stayed silent and Patrick realised he was supposed to answer then. "Oh sorry, I- okay yeah. Yeah sure," Patrick said eventually and Pete maybe died a little inside. "Yes? you're- yeah?" Pete asked, just to be sure and Patrick hugged him again, arms around his neck, "yeah, yes. You're amazing, so if you're not worried about ruining this living together thing then sure." "No, I'm not. I'm really not," Pete said, pressing his face against Patrick's neck again. "Okay."

 

**12/20/99**

 

"Hi," Pete said once he joined Patrick in the hallway, dressed up all in black. "Hi," Patrick replied, looking him down which made Pete blush. He was being way too obvious about this, but it was a date after all, their first date.

Patrick offered his arm and Pete took it, linked them together. It was weird to leave their own apartment, but in a way it was funny too. "So, I thought I was going to be the one to take you out but instead you took over," Pete said. "Uhu, I'm a gentleman," Patrick said. "So does that mean I'm not a gentleman?" Pete asked with a huff. "No, just that I want to be the gentleman today," Patrick argued, shrugging his shoulders. Pete hummed, "alright then, I'll let it slip, but seriously, where are you taking me?" "Don't worry about it, you'll see."

They walked in silence after that and Pete felt nervous, wanted to say stupid stuff to get them to talk again. "Wait, did you steal my scarf?" He suddenly asked as he looked at Patrick and the boy smiled, trying to look innocent, "no, what are you talking about?" "That's the scarf I wore the day I ran into you!" Pete said, touching the fabric and Patrick shrugged, "it's cold, I don't have any scarves." Pete smiled, "it's alright," and he leaned against Patrick's body.

"It smells like you," Patrick almost whispered, a comment that made Pete's heart nearly beat out of his chest. "After tonight it will smell like you," Pete replied, and somehow it felt like those words referenced to more than just the scarf.

Patrick stopped out of nowhere, and Pete was about to ask what was wrong when he said, "we're here." Pete eyed the place. It was a steakhouse that looked way too fancy for them. "Are you sure this is the right place? It looks very expensive and exclusive," Pete frowned and Patrick just laughed, "I'm an artist, trust me we'll get in." Patrick took Pete's hand then and pulled him into the restaurant.

A waiter came up immediately, dressing in a suit with a bowtie, "good evening, can I help?" "Good evening, I would like a table for two please," Patrick ordered and there was determination in his voice that Pete had never heard before. The waiter eyed them, "who am I dealing with?" "Oh, I thought that was clear. After all I was on the cover of the Rolling Stone last month. I don't know if I should feel offended or flattered that you're asking," Patrick said and the casual way in which he said it made the waiter look guilty. "Of course, I see now. Alright sir, follow me."

Patrick sent Pete a victorious grin and Pete simply rolled his eyes. "Well, we got in, yes, but that still doesn't mean this will be cheap," Pete said and he huffed quietly. "I don't care. Only the best for a first date," Patrick replied though, resting his hand on top of Pete's. Pete stared at their hands together and felt calmer instantly.

By the end of the night, when Patrick dropped him off in the hallway again, Pete was sure about what he wanted. He squeezed Patrick's hand tightly and instead of letting go and opening his own bedroom door he pushed past Patrick and opened his, "You know, I like your room better. I guess I'll stay here from now on." He looked up at Patrick's face to check his reaction. Patrick watched him for a long time before he smiled and brought his face closer to Pete's, "that sounds like a plan." And with those words he pulled Pete into his room. The door fell shut behind them and Pete knew for sure he'd never have to use his own room again.

 

**9/11/01**

 

"Pete, I have to go. Pete, seriously, come on let me go," Patrick said, whining as he kept trying to break free from Pete's arms. "But I don't want you to go," Pete whined, holding his boyfriend even tighter. "This is my chance. This could mean I get my own album. This is my day," Patrick argued and as much as Pete loved his boyfriend, he knew he had to let go. He sighed, opening his arms and he watched Patrick roll away as soon as he was free.

He pouted, "you better miss me or I'll feel like your album is more important than I am." "Oh Pete, when are you going to realise that it _is_ more important than you are," Patrick said, and if it wasn't for his signature smile Pete wouldn't have known it was sarcasm. "Patrick Stump you asshole, you're never getting any again," He groaned as he watched Patrick get dressed. His boyfriend strutted his ass as he walked to the adjoined bathroom, "really now?" "Such a tease," Pete mumbled to himself as he stretched out in their double bed, rolling onto his side so he could look outside the window.

One side of their apartment was completely made of glass and so Pete could look down at the city, the skyscrapers and central park in the back. The place they met nearly two years ago. When Patrick got back out of the bathroom, hair combed and tie in place, he leaned over the bed and kissed Pete. The kiss was soft and long, nothing teasing about it and Pete smiled once it was over.

"I love you Pete," Patrick said, lingering a minute longer before he stepped back, "don't stay in bed too long, okay?" Pete hummed, grinning, "sure thing honey," knowing he probably wouldn't get up anytime soon. It was his day off after all, he was going to do whatever he wanted.

"I love you too Trick, good luck," He said , waving as his boyfriend opened the door. Patrick rolled his eyes, smiling fondly before he disappeared from view. Pete settled back in the pillows and sighed happily. He thought back to that day in Central Park. The way a leaf had stuck to Patrick's glasses once they left the coffee shop, how they had bumped shoulders for five whole minutes until they were laughing too much, but mostly how Patrick had smiled the moment he saw Pete. And with that picture burned on his mind he fell asleep again.

 

He woke up from a loud screeching sound and he quickly blinked himself awake. His alarm clock told him it was 8:46 and that was all he really saw before something outside caught his eye. He crawled out of bed within seconds, heart beating in his chest as he saw a plane, an actual passenger plane, flying over the building. It was flying way too low and he knew that instant something bad was going to happen. Something disastrous would happen and there was no stopping it.

Pete pressed his palms against the window, taking deep breaths as he realised that people were going to die. The plane would crash and there were people out there that would have probably less than a minute to live. People on the plane, people on the ground, waiting for their last breath. Pete gasped as he thought of how insane it was to stand there and watch it happen.

He kept looking though, eyes wide and dry, as the plane crashed itself into the north tower of the World Trade Center. His heart stopped beating, thinking maybe he was dreaming, that this wasn't happening. He imagined the chaos, the screaming people and the pain, and then he thought of Patrick. Where was Patrick? Where did Patrick's meeting take place?

He tore his eyes from the burning building and ran over to their calendar, which hung in their small kitchen. Pete's finger trembled as he moved it over the dates, looking for 9/11, 9/11, 9/11- A tiny sob left his body and he trembled all over. There, in Patrick's scrawly handwriting were the words ' _meeting with producers, 8:30am, WTC_ '.

Pete collapsed on the ground, letting out another agonizingly loud sob as his body curled in on himself. "Patrick, no, no," He said, getting himself together again, picking himself up. He grabbed the phone, dialing Patrick's number, repeating a mantra of 'please, please, please' over and over until the line went dead. He tried again, tears streaming down his face and this time a voice informed him the number he tried to reach was out of service.

Pete hung up, holding on to the wall because he was scared to fall or pass out if he didn't. He stood there for a while, didn't even feel himself walk back to the window until he stood still again. He could see the flames and smoke rise from the building and he knew he couldn't do anything but hope that Patrick would be in the South tower or at a lower floor.

He pushed himself away from the window to turn on the TV, and as expected every channel showed footage of the crash even though it happened minutes before. He got sick looking at it, knowing that his boyfriend, the love of his life, was somewhere there. Knowing his boyfriend might be dead.

On screen someone jumped out of a window, falling to their death and Pete let out a sound that could only be described as misery.

He lifted his hand, clamping it over his mouth to keep the sobs away, but it didn't help much. He wished Patrick would call, he wished time would pass quicker so at least he'd know if Patrick was okay or not. Pete kept his eyes on the TV, hearing the reporters talking about how the whole telephone network was down. However, when Pete's phone rang he felt hope and he ran to make sure he would answer it in time.

"Hello?" He asked, expecting to hear Patrick's voice, but it wasn't his boyfriend. "Pete? Are you okay? Did you see what happened?" Joe asked and Pete's heart sunk. "I'm fine, I'm okay, but- but," he had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing loudly, the call could be cut off any minute, "Patrick had a meeting, Joe. He's in there somewhere and I- I- Joe I can't lose him, I can't." Joe was silent for a while and Pete whined, "Joe, please say something." " I'm sorry, I don't know what to say Pete. I'm so sorry, but hold on okay. They'll get out as many people as they can, so you don't know if he's okay. Maybe he's roaming the streets on his way home now, you never know. Just h-" and then the line was dead, cut off, and Pete felt alone again.

He turned back to the window and he sniffed, finally able to control his sobbing.

Just when he had calmed down a little he heard the same loud noise that had woken him and he felt his mouth go dry, "no, no, no," he repeated as he pressed up against the window again, seeing a second plane fly over the city. It was an attack, there was no doubt now. How else could two planes crash? The moment Pete realised this he also knew what the second target was.

The south tower.

Pete fell to his knees then, clasping his hands together tightly, squeezing his eyes shut the moment the plane hit the second tower. He prayed, lips moving as he directed his words to a god he has never really believed in. He didn't have a choice. He prayed for Patrick to come home, not even for all the others. So many families were in pain, not knowing if their loved ones would be okay, and yet Pete was selfish enough to pray for himself.

"I love him so much, I can't live without him, please. Please," He whispered, head against the glass. He sat like that for what felt like forever, staring at the burning towers. Minutes passed and all Pete could think was 'Patrick, Patrick, Patrick' and 'please, please, please'.

It was 9:58am when all his hope crumbled.

The south tower collapsed.

Slowly it fell to the ground, as if it was in slow motion, and Pete watched it disappear between the other skyscrapers. He wondered how many people had gotten out. He wondered if Patrick had been in there.

He could hear sirens everywhere, heard people on the TV screaming. He turned his head, seeing live footage. All the streets were covered in dust and Pete wished he could have been there with Patrick no matter what happened to him. No matter if that meant both of them would have died. He couldn't stand the thought of Patrick being dead, leaving him behind with nothing. No, Pete would have rather died with him then.

It was only inevitable that the second tower would collapse too and when that finally happened Pete felt like an empty shell. He watched the empty space in the skyline he was so used to seeing filled. Within two hours New York had changed immensely, never to be the same. He could only try to grasp how much impact this would have, not only on his life but on everyone else's.

New York was silent apart from the distant sirens.

The sky was blue where it wasn't filled with smoke.

Pete cried, hands bruising as he kept praying for Patrick to come home.

 

Pete sat on his bed, back turned to skyline for hours on end, until nightfall, but Patrick hadn't returned. He had tried calling hospitals in the area to ask if maybe his boyfriend was injured, but they had said they couldn't help him with that yet. There were too many injured people, too many dead bodies to identity.

Pete's eyes felt tired and swollen from all the crying. He couldn't remember a time where he had cried as much as he had done that day. Sitting still for hours and hours, not being able to think about anything but the boy of his dreams possibly being gone forever.

Around nine that night, when he heard most people were able to normally make phone calls again he got up one last time. He dialed the number of the company Patrick was supposed to meet up with and to his surprise a receptionist answered the phone. "Good evening, my name is Pete Wentz and-" he was at a loss for words, not knowing what to ask.

"My boyfriend had a meeting with your company today, in the uh- the world trade center and-" Pete bit his lip. It was dead silent on the other end of the line, but Pete could hear her breathing. "And he hasn't come home. I was wondering if- if your people have contacted the company to let you know they're safe, or-" He paused, not knowing how else to explain.

"I'm sorry, they haven't. I'm on duty in case we do get a call, whether it be good or bad news, but," She stopped talking and Pete wished she would just go on. He heard some typing and then she sighed, "the meeting took place in the northern tower, floor 119, which means the plane crashed beneath their floor." Pete's eyes fell shut and he nodded, licking his lips before he replied, "okay," his voice sounded weak, "I understand what that means. Thank you for the information."

When he hung up his legs finally gave way and he fell to the ground. "You're dead, aren't you? You're gone," He cried, his head hung as more tears spilled from his eyes. He wiped them away in vain, trying to get himself to calm down. There was no possible way that Patrick had survived if he had been on one of the floors above the plane. There was an even smaller possibility he had survived if he had still been on one of the floors above the plane the moment the tower collapsed.

"I can't believe I actually let you go," Pete cried, hands balling into fists as he felt regret fill him up. If he had just pushed, if he had just managed to make him be late -fuck the chance of recording his stupid album- then he would still have his boyfriend.

Pete hadn't felt as lonely as he did then in years. Not since he had left Chicago. His legs trembled as he tried to get up, holding on to the wall. He smashed it with his fist, feeling anger cloud his mind, pushing at the pain. He tore the calendar off the wall and it fell to the ground the same way thousands of documents had fallen down the streets of New York that morning. He screamed, body tense as he tried to stop himself from hitting his head against the wall repeatedly. Instead he kept smashing things.

The glass on the counter that Patrick had used for breakfast. The vase with flowers that smashed to pieces, water flowing everywhere.

He didn't care. He didn't think.

He didn't think about anything but the anger he felt, the pain.

Another glass broke as it fell to the ground like bodies hitting the pavement.

Pain. Fear. Loss. Pete felt it all, felt his body being ripped apart from the inside out.

"No, no, no! I refuse to let you go! I refuse to, Patrick, you hear me? Never!" He yelled loudly.

He tripped over the rug in the hallway, burning his knees and it hurt but he couldn't care less. Pete curled up in a small ball, staring through the open door of their bedroom to the bed they used to share. The bed that had offered them warmth, closeness and love. He could look outside, could still see smoke in the distance, could still hear the sirens. His world stood still as he lay there, but the sun still went down, the stars still shined as brightly as ever.

An occasional sob left his chest and his knees still burnt, but a soft breeze finally dissipated the clouds of anger in his head. It felt as if a cold hand was placed on his forehead, cooling him down until he shivered.

Pete stretched himself, rolling over onto his hurt knees so he could push himself up. He leaned against the doorway, staring into the room. There was only a small distance between him and the bed, but with the way he wavered it seemed to take forever.

He fell down on Patrick's side of the bed, quickly pulling the covers over his body to keep himself warm. The bed was cold, but it still felt as if warm arms kept him close to an even warmer chest, a body that fitted perfectly against his own. He pushed his nose into the pillow, smelling Patrick, Patrick, Patrick and to his surprise he didn't cry.

His tears had been used up.

He simply couldn't cry anymore.

 

**11/10/1**

 

Pete felt empty. Every day when he came home from work he would open the door to the apartment and call out Patrick's name. He never got a reply. It made him feel hopeless and he was a sobbing mess every time he had to crawl in bed all by himself.

He would have felt more at peace if there had been a body to bury. There wasn't. Two weeks before came the news that they had stopped looking for survivors and Pete had felt all the left over hope drain out of his body with every word the anchorman said, because there was no hope left.

After that he had spent his time looking at pictures of people hanging out of the building, of people jumping, trying to see if maybe he could see Patrick. Just to make it real.

Part of him hoped that Patrick had survived and decided to take his chance to live a new life somewhere far away from Pete. It hurt less than thinking Patrick was dead.

'Pete, I have to go. This is my day.' Pete had let him go to his meeting. A meeting with death.

Pete dropped his keys on the counter, leaving his bag at the door before he walked to the shower. He did everything automatically. Like he was some sort of robot. He didn't even feel himself wash his hair, but he knew he had done it because he could smell Patrick's shampoo.

Once he got out of the shower he stood in front of the mirror, still wet, and looked at himself. He looked dangerously skinny, not able to eat most days. His hair was falling out. His reflection scared him. "I can't do this anymore," He told the guy in the mirror. "I can't do this without you, Patrick," He said, his face tipped back as he spoke to the ceiling. He waited and waited to hear that voice that would make it all better, he could hear it in his head but it wasn't really there.

He wrapped his arms around himself and walked to his room, sitting down on the bed with his face turned to the windows. He watched the skyline like he did every day, looked at the empty space of air that resembled his heart. The place where Patrick had died.

"I can't do this without you," He repeated, feeling his bones heavy and his heart broken to a million pieces. He cried softly, on a rollercoaster of memories that made each broken piece of his heart break in two again, doubling the amount of sheds in his chest. "I need you. I need to feel your body against mine. I need your smile and your tears and I need you to kiss me and tell me you're mine. I need you to not be dead." His voice was quiet and pained and he felt so lost all by himself. He didn't know what to do, what to decide.

Life was so dreadful without Patrick by his side. He just wanted to be with him again, no matter what it took. It took death to get them together again, and the thought had crossed Pete's mind at least once a day ever since that day. He just kept wondering if it was worth it to end his life at the age of twenty-six when he wasn't even sure if there was an afterlife. He had always thought there would be a place he would go to once he died, but because he had never been religious he was sure that if there was a place, then he'd go to hell. He was also pretty sure that Patrick would be in heaven. Still, living like this wasn't going to be better than hell.

It was worth a try. He only had one try. "I'm coming for you, Patrick. This isn't over," He said to the ceiling again. He knew that if Patrick had been alive he would have been against this. He probably was. He would want Pete to pick up where he had left off and move on, but how do you move on when the love of your life is dead?

You don't.

Pete made the decision then, watching the empty black sky. He would go after him, he'd do the only thing he could to see Patrick again.

 

 

**11/19/01**

 

It wasn't the ideal way to go. It would hurt, but it'd be over soon. At least he'd succeed on the first try, because he wasn't sure he could go through this a second time. He followed the instructions from the book, tying a knot and testing to see if the noose would hold.

Once he thought it was okay he stood on the chair, tying the end of the rope to the wooden beams of the bedroom that held the apartment above his. He stood back then, watching the scene from a distance. He could wait until he starved to death, because he would if he kept living the way he did, but this was quicker.

He ripped a page out of his diary, taking a large black marker and he wrote 'I went after him. don't cry, I'm at peace'. He stuck it to the window so he could watch it as he was dying. No one would care. His parents hadn't contacted him in three years. Joe would understand. He didn't even have anyone else.

Once he was done, had checked everything, he climbed on the chair. He was scared, he wouldn't lie, but he could already feel the relief. It would be over no matter what would happen once he'd stop breathing. He took a deep breath before he brought up trembling hands to tie the noose tightly around his neck. He looked out at the skyline of New York, thought of all the things he would miss here. He couldn't come up with anything.

The only thing he needed was gone from this earth, back in the stars. He would follow soon enough.

His feet wobbled on the chair and he instinctively balanced himself again. This made him laugh a little and he shook his head, felt the rope still tightly wrapped around his neck. His smile faded from his face and he took another shuddering breath, balancing on one side of the chair. "I'm coming for you, Patrick. I told you I would and here I am. I'm doing it," He said, encouraging himself.

It was difficult though, no matter how badly he wanted to push the chair away from his legs. He could feel the tears prickling behind his eyes as he thought of how this was the end for him. He had always wanted kids. He didn't have them. He'd wanted to get married. He hadn't.

Missed chances and lost dreams, but there was only one person he wanted to share his life with anyway, and that person was gone.

He remembered the morning he heard the loud sounds of the engines of the airplane that tore his life to shreds. Could still see it hit its target and the pain he had felt in that moment could be felt in his heart. It was that pain that made his legs give and he pushed the chair out of the way until it fell over. His neck hurt as soon as he hung there, his breathing almost cut off. He struggled, wanting to reach the ground with his feet, but he had done this on purpose. He knew he had to hold on.

His eyes fell on his goodbye note, and suddenly he did feel like he was at peace. The world started to look pleasantly hazy, with dark edges around his vision and he smiled. He smiled and a dry laugh helped the air leave his lungs. He struggled to  breathe, but he still did. It was instinct.

His fingers tingled, his heartbeat slowed down and it almost felt like falling asleep if it wasn't for the fact that his lungs were burning as they struggled to get oxygen. He counted seconds in his head, until he was too unfocused to even think. He simply squeezed his eyes shut and thought of Patrick. With every passing second the thoughts became clearer in his head and he smiled. Even if this was it, those last seconds of feeling so close to the love of his life before nothingness, then he still wouldn't regret it.

He didn't notice the moment he stopped breathing, maybe he never did. He only felt the wind and the cold and he pulled up his shoulders, hiding his face in his scarf. He felt light, as if the noose had been cut off and he was able to walk. He felt like he was walking, but he still had his eyes closed and didn't dare to open them.

He stumbled when he bumped into someone and he frowned, eyes opening on their own accord. The boy looked up then, eyes meeting and Pete's hand stayed where it was, floating in the air as he stared. "Hi," Patrick said eventually and Pete sucked his lip between his teeth, biting it softly before releasing it again, "hi," he replied.

"I missed you," Patrick said, lifting up a hand to brush through Pete's hair. It was only then that Pete realised where they were. Central Park. "Am I-" He started and Patrick interrupted, "dreaming? no, but I think you know that already."

They stared at each other and then Pete fell forward, arms wrapped tightly around Patrick's body, "oh my god, Patrick. I've been going through hell. I should have never let you go," He cried, body shaking as he moved his hands all over Patrick's body just to feel. "It wasn't your fault, Pete," Patrick said, and he let his boyfriend touch him, let him get used to the situation.

"It hurt so much, I can't explain how much it hurt. I was such a mess, but I won't be anymore. We're together now," he said. Patrick kissed his forehead, "yes we are, unfortunately. I didn't want this for you Pete. I wanted to stop you, but I couldn't. It was my time to go, but it wasn't yours." "I had to be with you," Pete argued, "don't tell me you don't want me anymore." Patrick smiled at this and he leaned in to press his lips against Pete's in a quick but sad filled kiss, "of course I want you, but you deserve more than death." "Death is not the end, Trick," He replied, taking Patrick's hand. "We never got the chance to live our lives together, but we have the rest of forever, He said, not feeling any regret or guilt and he wished Patrick would be a little happier to see him, even if he understood why his boyfriend wasn't.

Patrick seemed to think for a minute and then he closed his eyes and said, "I never took the time to tell you just how much I love you." Pete smiled and let Patrick step away. He pulled on his arm, "we have all the time in the world now." Patrick nodded at this, a smile on his face that resembled Pete's and they walked together. Exactly like they had done the first day they had met.

It wasn't the reunion he had hoped for, the running through a meadow and falling into each other's arms. But then again seeing Patrick was beautiful enough. "I love you," Pete said as he awkwardly rested his head on Patrick's shoulder as they walked. Patrick wrapped his arm around Pete's shoulder and kissed his hair, "I love you too, I'm glad we're together again."

"Now, can I buy you like, a hot chocolate or something?"

**THE END**


End file.
